I was struggling up Moose Hill at about the two hour mark thinking this isn't even close to how traversing the Pyrenees will be. I started thinking of an elegant lady in New Jersey - the vision of her standing under a light on a foggy pier dressed in a long coat with a fur color - something I've never actually seen with my eyes. I imagined how she might imagine me out here and that gave me the strength to stop inwardly whining for a minute and to straighten my spine a little. For her imagination's sake, I want to be a mensch on the march not a shlub on a shlep.
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